#gringos fucking stop challenge!!!

[r0entgen]

Hermano cómo puedes tener múltiples Venezolanos explicándote la situación en Venezuela simultáneamente y todavía decir "you can't convince me that the US cares about democracy" STOP MAKING EVERYTHING ABOUT THE US FOR FUCKS SAKE THIS IS NOT ABOUT YOU AND YOUR POLITICAL STANCE

[vsblackcat]

aahgk don’t rb

[chiripepe]

I’ve been looking thru the Cuba tag and I’m seeing a lot of people on here declaring themselves Cuban and demanding Americans shut the fuck up about anything related to Cuba and stop asking questions and stop saying anything at all whatsoever because you can apparently only discuss Cuban issues if you’re Cuban.

That’s complete and total fucking bullshit. You fucking gringos need to grow a fucking spine and start demanding fucking answers as to why it is that the Cuban Embargo is still in place and you ESPECIALLY need to challenge these anonymous Tumblr users declaring themselves absolute authorities on everything Cuba and Cuban.

There is ABSOLUTELY NO REASON why as an American you cannot comment on what’s going on in Cuba and if YOU DON’T KNOW, then YOU DON’T KNOW which is fine! Admitting ignorance and seeking knowledge is much MUCH better than the people who run their mouths on here doing the bidding of the US government with no idea what they’re talking about.

Ask questions. Demand answers.

Please yes for the love of fucking god take interest in Cuba and US-Cuba relations. THE US CONGRESS IS WHO CAN END THE CUBAN EMBARGO! THE PEOPLE WE ELECT!! They have the power.

Some random fucking Democrat cunt running to take Marco Rubio’s senator seat in Florida is literally asking for the White House to intervene in Cuba. You know what that means? War. It means blood on the streets. It means boots on the ground.

Stop letting yourselves be paralized by worthless moralizing language and SAY WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT!!! Learn as much as you can about what’s going on.

It’s literally not complicated AT ALL WHATSOEVER. The US is crushing Cuba under economic sanctions through the mechanism of the US embargo, the situation in Cuba has been made EXPONENTIALLY WORSE by COVID and the ongoing economic crisis left in it’s wake. People are on the street because that’s the last thing you can do when all else fails.

We need to BRING DOWN THE US EMBARGO and let CUBAN PEOPLE THEMSELVES DETERMINE HOW THEY WANT TO RUN THEIR ISLAND.

[lochnessie]

The Wilds S2E2 reactions

Oh Raph...I like Raph. At first I was uninterested in the boys but I like Raph and the white boy with the glasses

Go LEAH! she's off her rocker but she's right so

Oh my gods nevermind I hate men and how weird they are about dicks ew

Awww Marisol seems sweet

Dot is literally the best they would never survive physically or emotionally without her

A guinea pig? Noooooo

Didn't Shelby cut her hair? Why isn't it shorter or choppier?

I wonder if Martha's feeling left out...for gay reasons....👀

Omgs Josh shut uuuup about Raph you don't know anything!!! Stop trying to speak Spanish u little gringo!

The way he looks at Marisoooolll! He's soft!

I have a feeling she won't be waiting for him when he comes back though :c

Lmao so glad the girls have a good time occasionally. Read that dumb romance!

Call her out Fatin! Let Dot enjoy time!!

Rachel you have nothing to apologize for you poor thing

Rachel please do not swim omg your Wound! I swear these scientists do not give a shit about when their subjects die

Oh nooooooooooooooo

Fucl fuck fuck fuck oh no

God I hate ants make it stop aaa run to the ocean!

Thanks Seth but it should not have been that easy to get rid of them

Seth hates his therapist?...👀 potential red flag

But also...Rath? Saphael?👀

Fuck dude whether ur right or not you did not have to hurt your son like that. I get it, but goddamn

Also those tamales have no lid dude they're gonna be gross when u get where ur going

Oh shit this poor kid and his shit luck...and anger issues

Good luck in the hole white boy

Oooooo water!!

Cute

The good instincts comment seems a little...suspicious... idk why

Oh Raph...😭

I love Fatin lol but also why are TV teens so into alcohol like. It doesn't even taste good

Your honor, I love these girls

Dot deserves this

You guys are not slick about that granola bar good grief

Kirin stop yelling and do something useful challenge

God he is so annoyinggg

Marisol tell him what your deal iiiss!

Oh Leah. No one has trusted you in ages, huh? That's gotta hurt

I wonder what her plan is. Hope it's a good one

Oh geez that is a riiisky play

I hope she knows what she's doing

Also is Nora dead?

[extasiswings]

Nonny, Latinx and Hispanic fans have said over and over and over again that this kind of shit isn’t “harmless nicknames,” it’s fetishization of our identities, it’s offensive, it’s racist, and beyond that, it’s wildly ooc, and it would be great if people would stop doing it. We have explained the reasons why we feel this way up, down, and sideways. If you want to keep doing it, whatever, but we’re allowed to express our personal discomfort on our own damn blogs. 

It’s not cool to call out a whole group of writers just something you personally don’t like. It’s difficult enough to get the courage to post and having someone be so vocal against something as harmless as a nickname is hurtful.

Yeah so—I don’t really care. I didn’t tag anyone, I didn’t name anything, I didn’t leave a comment about how much I hated it. If someone decides they’re going to stop writing because they write something one person doesn’t like ... man, it’s a tough world and you can’t make everyone happy. Block me, I don’t care.

HOWEVER. I reject the notion that a nickname is harmless, especially because it seems like a good 70% of this fandom only likes Eddie because he can whisper shit in Spanish to Buck and I’m not here for that. You want Eddie to speak in Spanish? Fine, but make it realistic. I BEG YOU. As far as I can remember, he’s spoken very basic Spanish in 4 out of ... 36(?) episodes, and each time it was to another Latinx person—not muttering under his breath around white people and not flinging terms of endearment around.

So ... do better. There’s no excuse for gross mischaracterization just because you think it’s sexy. Go find a fandom where that happens.

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Day 7: Sculpted- Javier Pena

Day 7: Sculpted- Javier Pena 

Pairing: Javier Pena x doctor OC 

Rating: 18 + for language 

I am finally caught up on the November Writing Challenge! I’m tagging my buddy @yespolkadotkitty​ because I know she would appreciate some Javier. :)

November Writing Challenge 

Day 6: Carpet - Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia 

“I don’t need a goddamn hospital! All I need is a glass of whiskey, some painkillers, and a smoke now to get me the hell out of here Steve!” 

“No can do partner, you got shot. Whether you like it or not you need to be checked out.” Steve guides an irate Javier Pena to the front desk of the hospital, “uhm hola, my amigo here needs a doctor,” Steve attempts to talk to the nurse at the desk. 

“You really need to learn Spanish,” Javier snaps at him before telling the nurse he'd been shot and needed medical attention. 

That got her attention, she jumped up before going to the back room coming back a few moments later with one of the most beautiful women Javier had ever seen. Long black hair pulled into a delicate French braid, in scrubs that did nothing but make his imagination run wild, and the most expressive blue eyes, he could drown in.

“I heard there was gringo here with someone who got shot, I assume that’s you?” She points at Steve speaking perfect English. 

“Yes ma��am my buddy here was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and got shot on the side it’s a through and through.” 

She shakes her head chuckling to herself, “wrong place wrong time? You really expect me to believe that?” 

Javier smiled, he liked her already. “Yeah, I guess I’m just clumsy.”

She looked at Javier before gesturing him to the back rooms, and put him in exam room three. “I am going to need you to remove your shirt so I can see the wound. You can wait in the waiting room,” she points Steve in the direction they came. He only hesitates a moment before going back out to wait. 

Javier struggles with getting the shirt up so she walks over and helps him lift it slowly over his head. When he has his shirt all the way off, he notices she stops moving her eyes glued to his chest. 

He smirks before asking, “See something you like there Doctor?”

“Sculpted…” she whispers under her breath. 

“What was that?” he asks. 

“It’s like someone sculpted you,” she says before meeting his eyes blushing bright red, “oh fuck, did I just say that out loud?” she places her head in her hands. 

Javier can’t help the laugh that comes out, he honestly can’t remember the last time he laughed and the sound comes out rough with disuse. “I can honestly say that is the first time a woman has ever told me that.” 

“I can’t believe I just...that was totally unprofessional excuse me please,” she moves forward to work on his wound. Cleaning the area before applying a bandage, “there, that should do it. It should heal just fine just make sure you clean and reapply the bandages a couple times a day to prevent infection. Is there anything I can do for you?” 

“Yes, I would like to take you to dinner tomorrow night,” he never had any problem going after what he wanted and now certainly wasn’t going to be any different, “then maybe we can go back to my place and I can show you wear else I am ...sculpted.” 

She cleans up the supplies, quietly thinking over the offer before turning back to him, “okay, I think dinner would be nice, and I am really interested in art.”

He looks back at her confused before she steps forward cupping him gently. He inhales sharply before she runs her nose along his neck whispering, “I am especially interested in sculptures.” She kisses him on the neck before gently biting his ear. “Pick me up here at seven,” she tells him before leaving the room to go onto the next patient. 

Javier stands up, adjusting himself before tugging his shirt back on and walking out to the waiting room where Steve sits. 

“Hey, how did it go? You gonna be ok?” Steve asks. 

“It went fine. I told you I was ok but I am glad we came here. I got a date tomorrow night, with the doctor.” 

“Of course, you go in with a gunshot wound and out with a date, and pray tell what are you going to be doing with this doctor tomorrow night?” Steve asks, shaking his head. 

“Oh...I’m taking her to an art show.” 

Steve stops him with a hand on his arm, “An art show? You? What the fuck?” 

“Yeah, she seems really interested in sculptures.” 

Day 8: Dot, Dot, Dot - Agent Whiskey 

[andsmile]

imo it's pretty clear how varchie are more sexual than b*rchie and how she's meant to be the girl for him. what bothers you so much about b*rchie? no hate really, just wondering bc i've seen you shipped ships that involved cheating sl's before and that you seem to multiship with veronica, so why not give them a chance?

LE BIG SIGH and i was not going to answer it because i’m actually having a good day but i figure you’re probably one of my ba mutuals that really want me to give their ship a chance, but if you’re not, you’re someone who obviously ships ba and came all the way to my blog to ask my opinion so i’ll give it to you.

despite the fact that to me ba are MINDNUMBINGLY boring in a way i cannot begin to explain - like, tell me what the hell do they even have in common if not the past? what will they even do if they actually date? never will call archie a dumb fool like others like to, but they challenge each other in literally nothing and ba spent 340203 years as best friends but she never helped him grow up in anyway and he also made her stay the same, only when they went somewhat separate ways we’ve seen some growth for them as characters but i digress.

despite the fact that ras and his merry band of buffoons (thanks @monicasposh​) could’ve written ba’s storyline like other ships that i enjoy (cheating or no) and that actually made sense, but they didn’t, and they pull them as a triumph card out of their asses everytime they need to stir some drama between the core four because they literally cannot think of better and more intelligent ways of writing their dumb show.

the first part of your ask, this ridiculous assumption that varchie - despite having 4 seasons of continuous build up, romantic scenes, big ass love declarations, domestic content, literally fighting for and to each other, etc - are only about sex, is mainly the reason why i will never ship b*rchie and that i want them to burn in the fucking hell.

i am brazilian, like cami. white as a sheet of paper, different from cami, but i’m brazilian, therefore i am a latina. i have traveled the world and i couldn’t tell you how many fucking times white guys treated me nicely but when they found out i was brazilian, i was suddenly someone they stopped seeing as a potential girlfriend and started seeing as someone to have sex with. i’ve heard the most obscene things about how we are known to be spicy, hot and heavy in bed, down to anything mostly, and look, i am so fed up with this stupid stereotype that a latina woman is only there for white guys to stick their dicks in while they wait for the “right one”.

veronica lodge not only is a latina woman in the context of riverdale who gets the short end of the stick always (storylines etc) like every minority representation except for maybe cheryl but y’all are not ready for this convo, not only she’s that, but she’s also the girl y’all choose to say “it’s only about fun and sex” exactly like all the gringos that have told me this before. 

i don’t even care that it’s about ~the comics~ even though the comics have completely different scenarios and universes. i don’t give a fuck that betty has been pining for archie since 1940 (until she finally stopped when falling for jughead but oh well apparently some people think that she’s earned the right to be with archie). and i don’t give a fuck because in the riverdale universe ba ending up together is a way of saying yet another fuck you to latinos in media.

and it’s even worst because veronica is supposed to come from a mexican family, the WASP-y favorite prejudice, a family who already was turned into criminals because God forbid a non-american family being successful just with hard work, and a character that is one of the mains but always gets the shorter end of the stick because... oh, i wonder.

even if i thought ba were remotely interesting with a remotely good build up - which i don’t - i refuse to endorse a ship that perpetuates a stereotype that has been used against me and my loved ones so many times. i refuse to endorse a ship whose shippers main argument is to slut-shame a latina girl. i refuse to endorse or to even try to understand a ship whose shippers i’ve seen saying that varchie vs b*rchie is like “that guy who jerks off to latina porn but goes back to his (white) wife in the end”, or that veronica is just after her green card. and just so y’all don’t think i’m one-sighted, i also refuse to endorse a ship that takes the first real development of a character (betty) in 78 years of history and throws down the drain for a white guy.

so yeah, i won’t give ba the time of the day or “a thought”. maybe i would if veronica wasn’t a latina, maybe i’d try to see behind all the poor development, character assassination, and just the absolutely non-existent romantic chemistry between these two characters, but since she is, i refuse. i will not. and if riverdale decides that’s the road they are taking, then i will stop watching, because this is where i draw my line.

so yeah, thanks for asking.

[songsformonkeys]

The Third Wheel (javier peña x reader) - chapter 13

Notes: Please don’t hate me!

Link to Ao3

Chapter 13

You liked Murphy, you really did, but when he showed up at half-past seven the next morning, with a bright smile and an equally bright greeting, you wanted to strangle him. It was too early and you were too tired.

Sensing the lingering rain cloud over your head, Steve dialed down the energy a little bit to a more tolerable level.

“ We can stop on the way to get coffee,” he offered as you stared at your jacket, debating whether or not you should bring it. Steve hadn't told you exactly where you were going so you were a little uncertain about the level of formality that was expected. Then you glanced over at Steve and saw him wearing a red short-sleeved polo shirt and a pair of loose-fitting jeans and decided that the jacket was probably not a requirement.

Steve patiently waited until you had both ordered and drunk half your coffee before filling you in on where you were going. Apparently one of Pablo's henchmen had been paying a visit to one of the brothels close by and if Steve's intel was any good then the henchman in question had been drunk off his ass and running his mouth quite a lot during his stay.

You asked Steve about which brothel, dreading, and already suspecting which one it was. And lo and behold, your suspicions proved correct. You were heading for the last brothel you wanted to visit right now. Not that you were too keen on the others either, but the others had one advantage that the one you were heading for did not. They were not the workplace of the woman Javier had been driving off to meet several times a week since you got back from the undercover mission.

And because Fate wanted to dig the knife into your heart a little deeper and twist, Steve asked you to talk to Vanessa whole he spoke to the two other girls. There was no way for you to say no so you gave him a tight-lipped nod and drank the rest of your coffee so fast that you burned your throat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You knocked on the door and it took about half a minute before she opened. The moment she saw it was you, her sultry smile slipped from her face and her expression relaxed into a more neutral, slightly unhappy one. It wasn't an unfriendly look, just the look of someone dropping the act of pretending that you showing up was the best damn highlight of her day.

“ Hello, Vanessa,” you said.

“ Police lady,” she greeted you, her accent heavy. You'd offered to speak Spanish the last time you were here but she had declined, claiming that she liked the practice, “Your gringo colleague told me you would come today. I think I guess why.”

“ You probably could,” you said, nodding, “May I come in.”

“ You may.” She held the door open for you to step into her room. Most of the floor space was taken up by a large bed but pushed up against one wall were two comfortable-looking leather chairs and a small table with a chessboard on it. There was something familiar about the chessboard, but you couldn't quite place it. The peach-colored curtains were pulled closed over the windows. They were thin enough to let through most of the light, just tinted it red. It was a little too warm in the room, despite the fan spinning franticly in the corner. Vanessa was dressed in a thin flowy gown with big, nondescript yellow flowers on it. Her attire was much better suited for the temperature than your button-down white shirt. You'd rolled the sleeves up in the car on the way over but it did little to help with the temperature and you already longed for the fresh air outside.

Vanessa picked up a packet of smokes from the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs before lighting a cigarette. You hovered a little awkwardly inside the door.

Against your will, your eyes were drawn to the bed and you hated your brain for the very vivid imagery it conjured of Vanessa and Javier on there, tangled up in each other, kissing and fucking and... Something must have shown on your face because Vanessa snorted out a humorless laugh and it distracted you from your cruel imagination.

“ I disgust you,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and jutting her chin out like a challenge. The cigarette glowed between her well-manicured, baby blue nails.

“ What?” you asked, feeling confused before realizing how she'd interpreting your looks, not knowing the true reasoning behind them.

“ No, no, that's not it,” you tried to assure her. Vanessa probably dealt with enough condescending assholes on a daily basis, you didn't need to add yourself to that list. “I'm sorry, I got lost in my mind thinking about something else.”

She regarded you with a skeptical gaze before seeming to decide to give you the benefit of the doubt. She shrugged.

“ Sit! You make me nervous,” she ordered and you obediently sat down in one of the chairs. She held out the pack of cigarettes towards you but you shook your head.

“ No thanks.”

“ Buena chica , it's a filthy habit,” she said but contradicted her words by taking a long drag from the cigarette in her hand before blowing the smoke towards the ceiling. She waved her other hand at you. “So, I'm guessing you and the gringo boy aren't here for a good time. Which means you want information.”

“ Correct,” you nodded and patted the wallet in your pocket, “And we'll, of course, compensate you for your time and cooperation.”

“ Of course,” Vanessa said, looking unimpressed. As much as you didn't want to admit it, you sort of liked her attitude. She'd been the same way you last came to see her in, what felt like, an eternity ago. Not outright unpleasant or rude but refusing to play along for any forced politeness or social charades. It was refreshing and if she hadn't also been too tangled up in your messy feelings of unrequited love, then you thought you would have been able to better appreciate it.

“ One of Pablo's men was here the day before yesterday,” you said, cutting to the chase. Vanessa, who knew perfectly well why you were here, just nodded to confirm what you had just said.

“ Was it you that he was seeing?” you asked.

“ Me and a couple of other girls,” she replied, scrunching up her nose in dislike, “I wasn't there for the whole thing. Had another man here before so I joined after. Is your colleague talking to the other girls? I suspect they'll know more than me. The men usually run their mouths before the sex, talking and trying to impress. They forget themselves with us whores sometimes, talk about things they shouldn't. By the time I showed up, it wasn't a listening ear he was after.”

You refrained from telling her you were sorry. The impression you'd gotten from Vanessa wasn't that she would be one to appreciate meaningless condolences. She was watching you with a tense look and you cleared your throat.

“ Do you have any idea what it was that he talked to the other girls about?” you asked and it appeared to have been the right response because Vanessa relaxed again and took another drag from her cigarette.

“ Only what the other girls told me after. That he's helping Pablo with some big thing, something that's gonna put the opposition in their place, or something like that. At least that's what he told Celia.”

“ Anything else?” you asked and Vanessa shook her head.

“ I'm sorry,” she said and got up from the bed and walked over to the ashtray on the nightstand to put her cigarette out, “Like I said, I showed up too late to hear much of anything.”

“ It's alright,” you assured her as she sat down on the edge of the bed again. The gown slipped from one of her shoulders, revealing an ugly bruise on her upper arm. You recognized the marks of fingers gripping too tight. Vanessa saw you looking and pulled the gown back up, leveling you with another warning stare.

“ One more thing,” you said, “We know it was one of Pablo's men. Did you recognize who he was?”

Vanessa bit her lip and let out a long breath before answering.

“ Sí. It was Alonso Sebastián.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He'd been here too. Occupying the same space as you. Breathing the same air that you were breathing now. You felt light-headed, like there suddenly wasn't enough oxygen in the room, and you discreetly gripped your knee for support. But Vanessa was nothing if not perceptive and her eyes narrowed in on your hand and then your face, like a hawk.

“ He got to you, too.” It wasn't a question.

You took a moment before meeting her gaze, and when you did her eyes were a little softer than they had been a moment ago. Coming from her, it didn't irk you the same way it had when it'd come from Javier so you nodded. There was no comparing what Sebastían had done to you to what he'd probably done to Vanessa, but you couldn't deny that he had gotten to you. She was quiet for a couple of seconds before standing up to walk over to open a window.

“ The first times are usually the worst,” she supplied, with her hands on her hips, “Are you going after him?” she continued and you nodded again. “ Good. Then, when you catch him, crush his balls, cut his cock off and feed it to the dogs.”

She smiled at you in a way that told you that, given the opportunity, she absolutely would have done just that. In a strange way, that was sort of comforting.

You had no idea how to reply to the exchange that had just taken place. So to have something to do, you reached over and began arranging the chess pieces on the board. Vanessa scoffed.

“ What is it with you DEA and playing chess?” she asked and you looked up.

“ Huh?”

“ Your other colleague,” she elaborated, “He brought that over weeks ago. Every time he comes over, he wants to play.”

You looked down at the chessboard again and suddenly remembered where you had seen it before and why it had seemed familiar. It was Javier's. You stared down at the piece in your hand as Vanessa went on.

“ It's easy money...not that it wasn't before as well. He's a good man...well for being a man. But I don't like chess all that much and the taaalking...” she rolled her eyes, looking over at you, “From one woman to another...get him a friend to talk to.”

“ What...is something wrong with him?” you asked, frowning. Had you been so occupied with your own exhaustion and your own nightmares that you had completely missed that Javier might be suffering too? Had something happened on the trip that he hadn't told you about? Maybe he'd seen the state you were in after Sebastián and had decided that you couldn't handle hearing more. You felt a confusing mix of hurt and embarrassment that he hadn't told you, with a slight pinch of affection for his consideration.

Vanessa just laughed at your obvious worry.

“ Only the worst thing that can happen to a man...loving someone who doesn't love him back. He's...what do you call it? Pining? And he comes here to talk about it. And play chess. I say, I'm not his stupid therapist, okay?” She rolled her eyes again but then she sighed, “But I still tell him, because I'm a saint and he's hopeless. I tell him he can't just do the filthy stuff if he wants to keep her. He gotta do the nice stuff. The asking to spend time with her, getting her food, touching without being creepy...”

She counted the different suggestions on her fingers and for every blue nail that shot up, mental images flashed through your mind of Javier doing just these things over the past few weeks. Your mouth fell open as you listened. You feel lightheaded again. It was becoming a reoccurring thing these days and maybe you should see a doctor about that soon. Was Vanessa right? Had Javier gone to a prostitute several times over the past two weeks to ask for relationship advice? It was such a Javier thing to do that you almost joined Vanessa when she suddenly started laughing.

“ Oh...” she said, laughing like she'd just won the comedic jackpot. “But of course. It's you!”

You opened your mouth to reply but nothing coherent came out and thankfully, you were saved from any further embarrassment as there was a knock on the door and Steve stuck his head inside. He looked just as sweaty as you felt and there was a grim expression on his face.

“ I'm driving one of the girls to the hospital. Will you be alright getting back by yourself?”

Vanessa's smile slipped from her face and she pulled the gown closer around herself again. You looked between her and Steve and nodded.

“ Yeah, of course. Is the girl alright?” you asked and you could practically feel Vanessa holding her breath next to you. Steve nodded.

“ She's...okay just...better safe than sorry. Don't worry,” he said turning to Vanessa and then back to you again. “Call one of the guys at the office. They'll come pick you up. I'll talk to you later.”

And with that, he disappeared from the room again.

“ Do not worry,” Vanessa echoed Steve in a slightly mocking tone of voice. You turned to face her.

“ I know. But knowing him, he probably really just wants to make sure. His wife is a nurse.”

Vanessa nodded. You stayed for a little longer to talk to her but, time and again, tried and failed to think of something smart to say. So after a while, you stood up from the chair and pulled out your wallet.

“ I should make my way back and let you go talk to the others. If you need to call, you have my number from before. Thank you for your help, Vanessa.” You handed her the standard informant's fee. “Do you think I could borrow the phone and call for a ride?”

She nodded again and accepted the cash.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You asked for a ride back to the apartment, rather than to the office, and luckily it was one of the officers you didn't know all that well who came to pick you up, so the small-talk could be kept to a minimum. You had too many thoughts swirling around in your head to be able to focus on anything.

If what Vanessa had told you was true, then Javier had been trying to woo you for the past weeks since you got back from the Giraldos. Javier. Wooing you . Looking back at all the gestures, with this new information in mind, you could sort of see it. You might have seen it earlier, though, if Javier hadn't backed off or given up or turned grumpy at the slightest deviation from his plan.

You thanked your colleague for the ride outside the apartments and, before you could think better of it, you stomped up to Javier's front door. You knocked hard on the door, finding the action more satisfying than just pressing the doorbell. When Javier took longer than twenty seconds to open the door, you knocked again.

“ Calm the fuck down,” you heard him call from somewhere inside the apartment. Then he opened the door, holding a plate of empanadas.

You walked inside, closing the door behind you.

“ Put those down,” you told him. He looked confused and skeptical by the whole thing but did as he was told and reached up to put the plate on the hat rack, which was the closest flat surface.

“ What's going o-” That was as far as you let him speak before you gripped his face and pulled him in for a kiss. He jumped slightly and made a surprised noise as you pressed your  mouth to his. His lips parted easily against yours but when your tongue nudged them apart further to slip into his mouth, Javier suddenly pulled back.

“ What are you doing?” he asked, a hopeful note to his voice. His hands were running up and down your arms in an almost nervous fashion.

“ Well, I was trying to kiss you,” you answered, “And I'd like to continue, if you'd let me?”

Javier watched you and you could see that he still had questions, you couldn't really blame him. His hands were still fluttering along your arms. But then he must have decided that to hell with whatever doubts and questions he had because his hands suddenly found purchase and when he yanked you close, it was your turn to make a surprised noise. Any lingering sounds were, however, quickly lapped up by Javier as he licked into your mouth, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to hold him even tighter against you. He tasted of empanadas and you chased more of the flavor with your tongue.

One of his arms wound its way around your waist so that his hand rested on the small of your back. The two of you had kissed before but there was a different kind of urgency to Javier's kissing now. It was no longer the urgency of selling an act and being believed, but the urgency of making the most of it before it would end. You tried to slow him down, there was a whole afternoon and night and maybe more for doing this, but, instead of just slowing down, Javier completely stopped and dropped you like you were on fire. You stumbled a little at the sudden change of demeanor.

“ Fuck!” he said, and rubbed a hand over his face. Your heart had time to drop all the way down to your kneecaps before he continued. “I'm sorry! I'm fucking this up but you're sending really mixed signals here!”

“ Javier...” you said, trying to calm him down. You waited until his aggressive breathing had slowed down and his gaze landed on you before speaking again. “I spoke to Vanessa today. She told me about your talks.”

“ W-what?” Javier asks and the shift into a nervous facial expression was so out of character for Javier Peña that it made you want to laugh. But you held back.

“ She told me you wanted this. That you wanted me,” you said, feeling your stomach tie itself into worried knots. This was it. Javier's eyes were wide but he didn't say anything. If I can neither confirm nor deny, but I am totally guilty had a designated facial expression, it was the one Javier was currently sporting. You took a deep breath.

“ I remember what I said last time but you know...Fuck it?”

Javier's expression softened but just as you reached out to touch his hand, the expression suddenly hardened again and morphed into the patented Peña frown.

“ No,” he said, “Not good enough.”

You spluttered, “Sorry? What?”

“ Whatever the fuck kind of explanation that was. I remember what I said last time but fuck it? Not good enough. Vanessa told you about me. What do you want?”

“ Come on, Javier,” you argued, stepping a little closer, “I just came in here and kissed you. You know what I want.”

Javier stared at you, but instead of letting you off the hook, he crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows at you to go on. You couldn't believe him. He'd been pining for weeks, according to Vanessa, and here you were, offering it all up and he suddenly decided that he wanted some sort of verbal confession? Then you remembered that Javier Peña was the most infuriating man on this planet, so of course he would.

“ I asked you the last night before we left the Giraldos but you dodged the question then,” Javier said and you immediately knew which question he was talking about. You had indeed dodged that question and had settled for asking for a hug, which left a whole lot of things out that you wanted from him. Apparently, Javier had picked up on that too. “So I'm asking you again: What do you want?” You hesitated only a moment before replying.

“ I want to kiss you. Every time I see you, I want to kiss your stupid face. And I want to spend the night here, or you at my place. Either is fine but I don't sleep right without you. And I remember that I said it was a bad idea to sleep with a co-worker, and it probably still is, but we do so much stupid shit that maybe it'd be okay to be a little extra stupid?”

Javier's mouth curved into a smile. It wasn't one of those smug smirks or one of the self-deprecating smiles, but one of the rare happy and relaxed smiles. You felt yourself get a little weak in the knees at the sight of it.

“ Good enough?” you asked, and hoped to higher powers that he'd say yes. There was no way you were writing him a sonnet or a serenade. Javier nodded.

“ Good enough,” he told you and stepped forward to kiss you again. This time his right hand came up to cradle the side of your face while the other found its previous spot on the small of your back.

You nipped lightly at his lower lip and you felt him smile even wider against your mouth, as if he knew exactly what you were punishing him for. He murmured something against your lips in Spanish, you didn't hear exactly what but could tell from his tone of voice that it was some kind of endearment.

The phone rang and you both jumped before deciding to ignore it. Javier backed you both into the living room and you almost tripped getting down the few stairs and over to the couch. The phone stopped ringing sometime between when Javier kissed your neck and when his hand untucked your shirt and slid under the fabric to cup your breast. You were on top of him, awkwardly straddling one thigh while he was stretched out on his back. His kisses kept you grounded.

You were reaching for his belt buckle when suddenly someone pounded on the door loudly, yelling:

“ PEÑA! OPEN UP!”

You knew that voice and had just enough time to push Javier's hand out from under your shirt, jump off the couch, and pull him to his feet before Murphy pushed the door open and barreled in.

“ Javi!” he called, then stopped for a moment when he saw you both in the living room, “Oh good! You're here too. It's happening! The meeting. Carrillo wants us at the station as soon as possible. We're leaving...preferably yesterday, if Carrillo can manage to sort out time traveling in the next hour. So get changed, grab whatever you need and I'll meet you outside.”

Neither of you had time to process what he'd just said, let alone respond, before he turned on his heel and headed towards the door again. Then he stopped, turned back, and waved a finger in warning.

“ And I know that look. Whatever you are arguing about, sort it out, or it's gonna be a looonnng ass trip there.”

The door slammed shut and you and Javier turned to look at each other and just blinked, a little slow to take in what had just happened. It was completely silent for a couple of seconds before you heard the door creak as it slowly opened again and Steve's head reappeared. He looked from you to Javier, then back to you again.

“ Noo way...” he said slowly, eyes wide as realization dawned. Neither you nor Javier said anything but it seemed that was confirmation enough because Steve waved his fist at you both.

“ I fucking knew it!” he grinned. “But I mean it, Carrillo will murder us if we don't hurry to the station. So funny business before we leave!”

And with that, he disappeared out the door, for real this time.

You turned towards Javier for a second time.

“I fucking hate the narcos,” he said, shaking his head. You laughed and stepped closer to press a quick kiss to his lips. You both lingered before pulling back.

“Later,” you promised him and he nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. Later.”

[nocturnaladvocate]

An Archive Party

The night had started innocently enough. Sable’s roommate had reminded them about a party someone was hosting. It was going to be a proper party too, not one of the imitations gringos were always trying to pass as a party. Offhandedly Sable mentioned it to Tim, when he had stopped by for his daily story about the skull. Tim then passed it over to Sasha, who had been itching for a good drinking contest. Sasha knew she was going to rope Martin in this because the poor man had become Jon’s punching bag. As for how Jon found out, and came to them asking for an address was a mystery. At least none of them would stick out, all in varying shades of brown the entire archive staff would blend in with the crowd easily. Their shifts were to end at a similar time, Jon being the last who was meant to leave, but what Elias didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. They cut the day a little short in favor of piling together into the auto that Mercury had waiting outside the Institute.

“Sorry, Mercy. Entire team found out on accident.”

But the driver only laughed, before turning to the three archive workers in the back. “I’m the dd for tonight so don’t worry about anything.” Neb said with a smile turning back to the wheel and the group left the hellscape that was the Magnus Institute, coming to a stop a few blocks away from a nondescript house and as the group came closer the faint sound of music could be heard.

“Jon, it’s gonna be warm. You might wanna ditch the sweater vest.” Sable called over their shoulder, having already turned a work uniform into something applicable to a party.

“I will be keeping my sweater, thank you.” He responded tersely before the quintet came to the front door, opening it to be met with a wall of differing languages all spoken in such a free and casual way that English usually was forced into taking the place of.

Mercury grinned before diving into the fray, pulling Martin after neb, taunting the others as the pair disappeared. Jon bristled at the loss of a member, but was quickly pulled in but the remained archive workers, Sasha and Tim discussing plans and Sable smiling at him.

When  Sasha finally disappeared, lost into the crowd where music hung in the air, voices occasionally intertwining with the notes in that off-key way that always came with smiles and laughter. Sable wrapped a hand around his wrist, gaining the archivist’s attention.

“Take a breather, Jon. You look like you’re twenty seconds from a freakout. Come on, I’ll lead you outside, alright?” Silently he followed their lead, emerging in the cool night air where the crowd was just milling around and talking. He could smell a barbeque somewhere out there, but what it was cooking he couldn’t tell. The hand on his wrist disappeared, but now he was calmer and in a place with so much less noise. It wasn’t that he disliked parties or loud noises, no, it was just that it always overwhelmed him at first, head pounding and the ground swimming and bass throbbing in his chest. But then it became the setting and he was fine, it just took a few minutes. The music from inside muffled itself and he could breathe again, taking a moment to recollect himself. One of his workers seeing that momentary break irritated Jon, but it had been the one least likely to make comment on it, so that was a relief after all. And they were his friends, at least as much as he allowed himself to indulge.

Inside the home, however, the party was thriving. Sasha found the drinking challenge soon enough, the loud jeering called her over easily and really it was shots, tequila. A clean shot. Simple enough, but she would pull the Jaeger bomb at some point, coaxing out the real challenge.  But that could wait, for now. She flashed the group a wide grin, sliding in and stealing a shot from the end of the line, downing it in one and placing it on the table upside down. “Twenty quid says I can drink you under the table. All of you.” The loud and slurred consensus of agreement earned her another shot.

Tim wandered through the throngs of people, drink in hand amd flashing that smile that earned himself the title of most people's workplace crush. And in this moment, there was no exception, for he quickly drew the attention of all. Sable went between their friends before settling close to the music station, waiting for a moment. Waiting for the right moment. A mechanisms song. One-Eyed Jack. Our Boy Jack. Either would do. Both would yank.Jon to center stage.

They watched the crowd, and when that familiar sweater was spotted, Sable changed the music, the always familiar chords ringing in the air as Jon's attention was drawn to the source. He hummed along, despite himself, and upon seeing Sable's shit eating grin he knew this was no accident.

"Why, Mr. D'ville, I believe this to be your cue." They called, eyeing the table where the speakers sat above, mounted on the wall. Jon shook his head, his smile stupidly fond as he climbed the table and fell into his age old persona. His voice rasped as he sang along, becoming Jonny D'ville once more. If only for a little bit. And then the song ended and Sable offered a hand, helping him down. "Find your stride? Treat it like an old concert." They smirked before darting off, leaving him on his own. Amd his own didn't seem too bad, not with the confidence of an immortal space pirate first mate possessing him. And if he saw Sasha drinking and being passed notes of cash or saw Martin dancing with some random man, learning the salsa with a tie wrapped around his head or Mercury watched with a gleeful grin or Tim making his way through the circles of people or Sable causing their usual mischief or pulling Mercury and Tim into dances throughout the night? Well. He wasn't going to say anything. He was allowed to have some fun and so were they.

The night was coming to a close, most of the crowd clearing out and separating on their own paths. Most, but not the archival team and Mercury, not yet. In a couch hidden in the basement, just barely out of sight, Tim and Sasha and Sable had all squished together, the smallest of them in the center. Sleepy mumbles and terrible jokes. 

“Sasha. Sasha. Sasha,” Tim started making grabby hands over Sable before launching into one of his trademark jokes. “Statement Joe Spooky on the topic of Jimmy Magma-” was all he was able to say before the laughter overtook, pulling spams from the three assistants before they all squished more, trying to minimize any space between them because that’s what a friend pile was. It was protecting against being touch starved by virtue of becoming a pile of kittens, except with humans. 

On the upper level Martin, still with his damned tie wrapped around his head and cheeks flushed red, danced with Mercury, even if it was mostly just swaying side to side with music playing in the background. He was wrapped around neb like a kola, mumbling something in the hybrid language his family had created and making softly pleased noises, trying to show his affection in a way that could be accepted. Perhaps there was too much alcohol in his system, still, causing this stupor instead of the manic energy from earlier. But fuck, if he wasn’t pleased with the current events, swaying with a beautiful person in his arms and tangling his hands in nebs hair. 

Jon, still with remnants of D’ville in him, came to the basement, finding three of his archists laying in a pile of limbs and warmth. He sat in front of the couch that trio had collapsed on, legs folded together, and barely tugging Sable’s hand before being met with tired brown eyes. Eyes that sometimes glinted with mischief or knowledge they shouldn’t have. Eyes that outside of the dark and dust of the archive and in the sun held glints of tawny in the usual dark umber.

“Would you care for a dance?” He asked, voice still having the rasp that separated Jonny from himself, however minimal the presence was now. Groans of protest came from Tim as they tried to disentangle from his lazy grip, arms eventually falling limp as Sable emerged from the pile. Carefully he stood once more, leading them upstairs where music still floated lazily in the air, pulling them close and resting his head on their shoulder, for a moment at least before taking a step and leading a spin, Sable easily passing under his arm. 

But the night had to come to a close, the host finally kicking them out. Jon and Sable descended a level to the remaining archive workers, rousing them from slumber. Hands reached out for the normally third member of their group, instead latching onto both Sable and Jon. Sasha and Tim both draped over their smaller compatriots, allowing themselves to be led to the auto where Martin and Mercury waited, the former of which climbed in shotgun seeing the swarm.

The swarm of four then piled into the back, Sable and Sasha each half on Tim's lap and Jon nearby. Neb, made way to the one flat the location of was known for sure, Mercury's own. Inside awaited a fort built of most of the blankets in the flat, a remnant of the night before. Before it could be accessed however, Mercury would fumble with the key in the lock, surrounded by archive workers in varying states. The door opened and in fell the horde, piling into the flat and finding areas of situation inside the fort. Where shoes and outer layers were shucked did not matter in that instant, sleep did.

Inside the fort it appeared a tangle. A heap. But divisions were clear enough. Tim slept between Sasha and Sable, legs tangling with them both. Sasha had an arm draped over Tim's chest, hand curling into Sable's sleeve and keeping their hand close. Jon slept with his head on Martin's stomach, a hand outstretched and entertwined with Sable's. And Mercury slept in the center of it all, touching the entire entourage in one way or another.

When morning came, it would be different. The peace would be broken and everyone's lives would return to the typical, but the night would be remembered fondly enough. Morning would come and ruin the moment, but locked away and away from the Entities was a moment of peace. For now, at least.

[indigogoinggone-blog]

Mennonite and Mexico

Checking my prejudice

It had been three days since I stuck out my thumb and tied my bike to the backseat of this Mexican man’s car. We are in hot pursuit of the greatest taco in the Yucatan as we hurtle ever closer to the Belizean border that will signify our parting of ways. Presently we are in the armpit of some great God. It smells pugnant, moist and like heavy immovable air - though this is not a necessarily a bad smell. The God showers regularly and eats well it would seem, which figures given its divine status and probable access to green smoothies, but smell aside it is the stifling heat that is the dominating sensation inside the vehicle. I turn to my new friend. “Mucho calor, putaaaaaa.” He wears a necklace of sweat beads as he declines to verbally answer, instead making a rapid right turn.

He tells me that he remembers seeing a beach marked here on the map, and sure enough, a parking space emerges in our line of vision, flanked by vendors of every description. Particularly pleasing to me was the peddling of mango in all its forms. Do you want it dried? Fresh and sliced? Diced? Whole? With chilli? Frozen? On a kebab? As a juice? Ohhhh sweet fruit, oh sweet, sweet package of sugar and joy, my mouth salivates and hands exchange pesos for you eagerly. There is a childish and excitable fevor gripping both my partner and I. We have mango juices dripping perversely from chin to chest, eyes alight with a sugar rush, and tyranny of the humidity forgotten. Car parked, we join the throng that is descending upon the gracious shores of the Carribean.

And here is when something happens that has been stuck in the machinery of my reflection, trying to churn out an understanding for the last two weeks. It begins with a young boy holding up a bag of apples to me. “Quiero?” He asks. In immediate essence he isn’t profoundly different from the dozens of other vendors littering the path to the beach. I decline his offer for the apples, and begin to walk ahead when something - I don’t exactly know what - forces me to stare at him a little longer. It’s his eyes that I notice first. Trauma. A hand squeezes my maternal heart and instinct, gently at first and then with a paralysing gusto. Having seen traumatised children before, and having been close to trauma and it’s side effects for many of my recent years, a strange sense for its manifestations has developed. I can’t look away. His little eyes are flickering from me to my partner to the ground, with that tragic vagueness indicative of a childhood robbed. His tiny frame flinches as I reach above his head for my hat, as if he were reacting to a pulled punch. I’m so consumed by the mother within me that I hadn’t noticed the more obvious oddities to his appearance.

His eyes are blue, skin freckled and pale and tiny frame sporting dusty look overalls. Cowboy hat and turned up shoes, he looks as though he been pulled from the set of a bad B grade movie, probably starring Reagan in his hey day. But he was speaking Spanish? My friend catches my eye in shared confusion. We watch as the little boy picks his way through the crowds, stopping to tempt others with his apples. None of the locals seem put off by his strange appearance and I conclude it must be me who is the strange one then. I watch the kid find his way back to a group of similarly dressed kin. A whole group of what looks like conservative Amish meets Mormon meets traditional farmers named McDonald. Six people in total, peddling apples and carrots and bracelets like the Mayan and a Mexican vendors around them, and all dressed in either overalls, cowboy hat and turned up shoes (male) or thick, oppressive, dirt length dresses with a bonnet and ribboned hat (female). All pale, blue eyed, freckled and tall amongst a population of dark eyed and sun tanned small peoples.

The mother in me recoils at the sight of who appears to be the patriarch. He has cruel lips and eyes almost totally enveloped by his eyebrows. I don’t understand the literal translations of his words, but his tone is terrifying. In what I can only describe as an act of self preservation, I grasp the hand of my friend and walk only a pace away from running all the way to the beach. I ask him if he knows why there would be gringos in farm clothes like that, but he’s from the Baja. He’s got no idea. I can’t help think how fucking weird they seem. These predjudiced thoughts begin to take over, fuelled by my instinct that something wasn’t right. Or is it vice versa? Did I fill their narrative with violence simply because they were different and i didn’t understand their presence?

On my ride south to the border, I see a group dressed so similarly that there’s no mistake they share some common set of beliefs. This time the group is on horseback, drawing carts of furniture. While they certainly look a little different to the other people here, I don’t have a sick and alarming feeling in my stomach when I look at them.

Again, crossing the border into Guatemala I see one more family dressed in these overalls and cowboy hats that cover their blue eyes. Who are they? Where did they come from? My sense of fear has entirely disappeared and is replaced by blatant curiosity. Some deep seeded biological part of me recognises them as people who look similar to me in base appearance, and wants to connect with them. Understand why those who look like me dress differently. What is their story?

And in some ironic symbolism of the modern age, I am walking through Flores - after deciding that I will live here for a month or two - and outside the alter of Burger King I see a tribe of Mayan vendors and a tribe of these same pale farmer-esque peoples. Finally I’m in a position to quench my curiousity. I approach them with my hands behind my back in what I hope is the most non threatening and approachable body language possible. In broken Spanish I ask where they are from and what their names are. Their accents are much thicker than other Guatemalans and I struggle to associate meaning with a lot of what they are saying. I pick up on Mennonite, El Ramate, family, God and a few other key words. Eventually I smile a little awkwardly and bid them farewell. In an act of human connection, one of the ladies emerges from behind who appears to be her husband and breaks off half of her Burger and extends it to me. I eat fast food for the first time in five years and ponder the absolute absurdity that is this situation. Traditionally dressed Mayans and who I now understand to be Mennonites eat a product of the American consumerist culture that is both intentionally and unintentionally swallowing their cultures alive. And they share this product with me, who is also somewhat a product of consumerist culture. Strange strange strange. Gringo meets Mayans in colourful skirts meets other white skinned farmers who nonetheless speak a dialect the gringo does not understand.

Still these moments mulled over in my mind. I went searching for Mennonites on the inter webs and found their long history in the Americas. They were a new sight to me and my friend from the Baja because they migrated down the Carribean coast, settling in enclaves that still loosely exist today. From my understanding - and perhaps you could enlighten me if you know anything about them - they came from Europe during the settling of the Americas like many persecuted réglions groups. They have a story similar to many minority groups with themes of isolationism, cultural celebration, technological rejections and persecution. I experienced a major twinge of guilt upon recognising my own prejudices and perceptions. My composite image of an average person right now was so far removed from their image that immediately upon seeing them in Mexico for the first time, i immediately passed judgement. I felt threatened and perceived them as hostile, when perhaps they were not. However, I didn’t perceive future groups of their people as hostile, only curiosities. I think perhaps there is an instinctual understanding of who constitutes a threat, and who appears traumatised. But I’m still unsure. I’m unsure if my construction of them as Other influenced the way I saw their dynamics. I am aware that I am human and that I have these biases and tendencies to misconstrue the Other. In the same breath, I felt the traumitised state of a child and minorities have their share of abuse and abusers as any group of people do.

I guess my point of this whole rant is my awakening to how pervasive our perceptions of Other are in shaping our understanding of people. All it took was one conversation to break down the barrier between them and I; suddenly they were not an oddity but a part of the environment and landscape as anyone else. I no longer had residual fear or suspicion when I saw a group of them, simply because I spoke to them and took an interest in their history of movement. However my initial contact was influenced by the look of trauma I am uncomfortably familiar with. People are never entirely good or bad; there is no way to paint one group with one brush stroke; there is only fluidity, life, suffering and joy all in one. I think also my expectation that farm clothes and horse and cart riding entails cult like behaviour and therefore abuse needed to be challenged. Cults certainly entail a predisposition to abuse, but farm clothes, a rejection of technology in the favour of God and a tight knit cultural community do no entail a cult. And here ends my untangling of such a small series of encounters.

You know me, I can’t let the little things go. I have to understand, have to connect the dots. So I felt like sharing that one instance of dot collecting and drift into deep thought, though I have countless, day in and day out. It’s a powerful thing to travel. To move and migrate. To live in various places across Earth. Oh yes I forgot to mention, I live in Flores Guatemala now. Work at a bar and have wonderful neighbours. I will be here about a month before I hitch hike again. In any case, having homes, friends, experiences and a sense of movement has eroded any lingering belief in the story of the nation. We are people on a planet. Diverse peoples and often strange environments, but still just people on a planet. More similar than we are different. Mmmmm I have hooked into my meditative practises more regularly recently, and the sense of clarity is much appreciated.

[houstonlocalus-blog]

Meet the Trans Woman Running for Pete Sessions’ Seat in Congress

The election of Donald Trump has brought out a great many people interested in trying to take the country back from the Republicans starting in the 2018 mid-term elections. They’ll need all the help they can get as here in Texas the Democrats have a rather deplorable history of turning up at the polls when there’s no president on the ballot. One of the hopefuls is Danielle J Pellett, who will be challenging Pete Sessions of Texas’ 32nd District. We sat down with her on opposite sides of the Internet to get to know the woman who would unseat Sessions, who is well-known as a tough opponent.

  Free Press Houston: What made you decide to run for Congress?

Danielle J Pellett: For far too long, I have been standing in a voting booth and my options were simply a Republican or Libertarian. I wondered where the Democrats were running for office. I kept thinking “someone should do something about that.” This past year, I finally decided that I needed to be the person who stood up to do something about it.

  FPH: More specifically, are you opposing Pete Sessions because of anything he specifically stands for or just because of the direction the Republican Party has taken?

Pellett: As a former conservative, I disagree with the direction that their party has taken. Most notably, some of Sessions’ votes betray core conservative Republican values: shutting down the government repeatedly, refusing to get clean water to Flint, and opposing a raise to minimum wage to get families off of food stamps. We should be fiscally responsible and stop subsidizing Big Oil and make Wall Street answer to why we had to bail them out in 2008.

  FPH: You’ve talked about growing up with Republican/Libertarian ideals, and rather than throwing those by the wayside you feel that some aspects of that simply feel more at home in the Democratic Party than in the GOP. What of your original stances do you find mesh the best with the DNC?

Pellett: I believe in a small government, which means not getting involved in family matters like they did with Terri Schaivo, or overturning the fracking ban they did in Denton. When I was young, I was on the Federal free lunch system and at one point we were on food stamps in order to make ends meet. My parents were not lazy, and their hard-working ethic put the lie to the welfare queen narrative. Despite what Paul Ryan says, those meals didn’t leave me with an empty soul. It fed a child and made them able to study and succeed in life.

What feels like a lifetime ago, I wound up not going to OCS [Officer Candidate School] and getting a commission with the Air Force due to the Air Force core value of Integrity first because of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. As I studied the oath of office and realized that to protect the Constitution from all enemies foreign and domestic, they were some horrific domestic policies that need to change.

We were firing gay military translators as we invaded Iraq and Afghanistan, while not putting those wars in the budget and kept asking for “emergency funding” as if it were a surprise that we were still there. We’re supposed to support our troops, but where was the support there?

Finally, I believe in provable facts over political dogma. Pollution is bad, and climate change is real. Drug testing is more expensive to the government than welfare is, and poor people can’t afford drugs. It’s even cheaper to rehabilitate addicts rather than locking them up in jail.

  FPH: You credit Sen. Bernie Sanders (D-VT) with a political awakening in 2001. What about Sen. Sanders’ and your own ideology would be most beneficial to Texans?

Pellett: Bernie Sanders has always been an independent who refuses to be bought out. He likes to tell it as it is, and refuses to let others get away with selling lies such as “Clean Coal” or that massive corporations just like to donate thousands of dollars to candidates and expect nothing in return.

His speech at Liberty University reminds us of our Texas values of working hard and paying our fair share. So when I see the ultra-rich getting away with squirreling away their money in illegal overseas tax shelters, I know that they are not paying their fair share. Instead, they are paying politicians to distract us with these supposed culture wars over abortion, gay marriage, and which bathroom we can pee in.

We used to have our roads and bridges paid for by tax dollars, now you see toll roads being built all over the place. We even have toll roads that are paid off that are still getting government subsidies while the companies that maintain them are collecting toll money.

  FPH: Why do you think so many Representatives end up running unopposed?

Pellett: Just like doing taxes, a lot of things are designed look harder in order to make people feel like they are unable to comprehend or do it. We also have rampant gerrymandering that makes districts nearly impossible to win.

My district right now vaguely looks like a donkey. This was done with regard to the historically low voter turnout in Garland. Due to the tenacity of Victoria Neave and her get-out-the-vote efforts, she won in a district that everyone had assumed was impossible.

  FPH: Texas, particularly Dallas and Houston, is a place where large corporations hold significant sway, and provide a living for many, many people and their families. Is your message in opposition to them, or is there a place where people and corporations come together for the greater good?

Pellett: The economy has been faltering for the past decade. For anyone who has ever played Monopoly, you realize that income inequality will ruin people. Once we have a winner in Monopoly, the game comes to an end. But how does that work in real life?

If a few corporations have all the money and all the resources while the majority of the middle and worker class doesn’t have enough money to make ends meet… then these corporations are now unable to sell their wares to the public. In short, who will be left to buy stuff when everyone is barely scrounging by to have shelter and food?

So what I would say to business interests is this: you have to look at a five-year profit plan rather than just the next quarter. In the short run, shutting down your factories and sending jobs overseas for lower pay seems to do great, but this has happened on a macro scale and has ruined Michigan.

For the greater good, businesses must want to increase their pay to match inflation. Businesses must realize that government should work as a check and balance in order to protect the people. We must remember the lessons from the Deepwater Horizon, West Texas, and the Magnablend plant in Waxahachie that prove we must have and enforce regulations for the safety of the people.

There has to be a balance between helping businesses thrive and making certain that we don’t have poisonous chemicals in our water like they had in Corpus Christi.

  FPH: If you had to pick one issue that was most dire in need of addressing in Texas, what would it be and how would you address it?

Pellett: Education is the linchpin for all of this. We need to teach science without religious bias, we need to teach history without politically-motivated revisionism, and we need to fully explain where babies come from and how to avoid that in order to reduce our teen pregnancy rate.

  FPH: Do you anticipate support from the DNC in your candidacy?

Pellett: I expect that the DNC will support me once I win the primary. I have already reached out to multiple candidate sponsorship programs and political action committees that are dedicated to promoting science and Progressive values that will not cost me my morals and ethics.

There is a way to work from within the system where you can get $27 donations from regular people and you do not have to rely on the backing of the fracking industry in order to compete in a political race.

  FPH: What do you think will be the biggest challenge in your race?

Pellett: I’m up against one of the most powerful people in the Texas Republican Party, who is well known and is instrumental in getting lots of money from wealthy out-of-state donors and from political action committees. In the past two years, Pete Sessions has raised over $2 million. Only 1 percent of that came from small dollar donations, so we know exactly who he answers to.

All I can hope to do is call him out on this while proving that I am the better candidate that understands the values of Texans today and for our next generation.

  FPH: You’re one of a number of trans women nationwide I know are running for office in 2018, including some prominent ones like Brianna Wu. What empowers you the most against the almost-inevitable transphobic backlash?

Pellett: I’m not running because I’m transgender, I’m running because I believe in helping middle and working-class Texans. I just happened to be transgender, and I honestly expect more push back from the fact that I’m an ex-conservative and I know how they think, how they speak, and I know how to destroy their talking points.

  FPH: Being the biased, lamestream media, I probably fucked some of this up, so here’s a small bit where you can say anything you want.

Pellett: My mother, Maria del Rosario, was born with cerebral palsy. It was misdiagnosed as polio when she grew up, and she had the Forrest Gump leg braces and walked with a noticeable limp. She was told all her life that she was an invalid and a cripple, and she couldn’t do the same things that her sisters could.

Naturally, she went ahead and did the thing anyways. She defied my grandfather by walking to Mass every morning before going to Catholic School. She defied my grandfather by going to college and getting a degree in teaching English as a second language to special-needs students.

She defied her family by falling in love with and marrying a gringo, my father David Ellsworth. Her doctor said it would be impossible for her to have a child. I am the product of one stubborn Latina and the man who supported her.

When I started supporting Bernie Sanders at the Texas Democratic Party and wanted to engage in direct democracy through a petition process at the State Convention, everyone told me it was impossible. I defied the naysayers and did three of them.

Meet the Trans Woman Running for Pete Sessions’ Seat in Congress this is a repost